


out to the town

by sparkysparkyboomman



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route Spoilers, Lol that's a tag, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, POV Sylvain Jose Gautier, Pining, Sad Sylvain Jose Gautier, Sparring, Unrequited Love, faerghus four, felix's canonical interest in cats, no beta we die like Glenn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:01:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22417390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparkysparkyboomman/pseuds/sparkysparkyboomman
Summary: A lightbulb goes off in Sylvain’s head. “How about this -- we spar, and if I win, we go out to town tonight and get dinner. It’s Saturday, too, so we don’t have classes tomorrow!”Felix scoffs. “And be your wingman? I’ll pass.”Sylvain frowns. “I said nothing about you being my wingman! You’d probably make an awful one, anyway. No, just the two of us. I won’t even flirt with the waitress!”(alternatively, sylvain wants to take felix on a date and spars for the right to do so)(spoilers for blue lions route)
Relationships: One-Sided Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier - Relationship, minor side pairings - Relationship
Comments: 12
Kudos: 94





	out to the town

**Author's Note:**

> SPOILERS AHEAD. you have been warned. 
> 
> very self indulgent

Sylvain misses his friends. Felix, Ingrid, and Dimitri. He sees them every day in the monastery, from breakfast to lessons to lunch to training to dinner, but everything is different. He misses the days their fathers would bring them all to Fhirdiad for a political negotiation or roundtable conference, and the four of them would explore the woods, spar, and play knights and dragons. 

Dimitri had always been a little careful and guarded, aware of his duty and responsibility as the Crown Prince, but after the Tragedy, he’s simultaneously both haunted and a ghost himself. He’s polite and courteous and proper, but Sylvain can hear him screaming and crying in the late hours of the night through their shared wall in the dormitories. 

“Loosen up, Your Highness. Come with me to town,” Sylvain offers, because his only coping mechanism is endless distraction. 

“Thank you for the invitation,” Dimitri replies, ever polite, “but I’m afraid I am busy this week. Perhaps another time.” 

Sylvain knows there will be no other time. He smiles and wheedles a little more, as is custom, and Dimitri performs his own part in their familiar song and dance, always ending with no promises to go out with Sylvain. 

Sylvain’s relationship to Ingrid had remained the most constant, with her constantly cleaning up after his messes, but he can tell she’s been under more strain. Since the loss of her fiance, her future has been uncertain. She never shares her father’s letters with him, but he knows they weigh on her conscience even as she tries to bury herself in training. Sylvain wants her to relax again, and invites her to go out as well, only for their conversations to devolve into one-sided lectures about his unbecoming habits. 

Felix is the one he misses the most. The sweet, clingy boy from his childhood days has morphed into a young man as bitter and harsh as their wintry homeland. Felix is so much angrier, now, at his father and Ingrid for their idolization of Glenn, at Dimitri for his madness, and at Sylvain for his philandering. Sylvain knows (thinks, hopes) that Felix still cares about him, but the swordsman’s words cut deep. 

_ Reckless. Insatiable.  _

_ You never consider how your actions hurt others… or how you hold them back.  _

_ You’ve been getting on my nerves for years.  _

But then, miraculously, Felix apologizes, and Sylvain’s heart feels so full for reasons he really doesn’t want to examine. All things considered, Felix might be the easiest friend to fix, the easiest one for Sylvain to get close to again. (An outsider would observe that prickly, contentious Felix is probably the most difficult person to get through to, and that Sylvain’s thoughts indicate that he simply  _ wants  _ a fixed relationship with Felix the  _ most. _ )

“Let me buy you something to eat,” Sylvain says, easy smile on his face.

“No.”

“You have to choose, Felix. Our friendship, or your training,” Sylvain calls after him, trying to sound as serious as possible.

“My training. Good-bye for now,” Felix retorts without hesitation. 

“What did--is he--wait, Felix! I’ll come train too. Wait up!”

Felix doesn’t turn back to look at him, but his steps slow ever so slightly, imperceptible to an untrained eye. “About time you focus more on your training.” This is Felix-approval. 

A lightbulb goes off in Sylvain’s head. “How about this -- we spar, and if I win, we go out to town tonight and get dinner. It’s Saturday, too, so we don’t have classes tomorrow!”

Felix scoffs. “And be your wingman? I’ll pass.”

Sylvain frowns. “I said nothing about you being my wingman! You’d probably make an awful one, anyway. No, just the two of us. I won’t even flirt with the waitress!”

Felix eyes him suspiciously, lips pursed. “Why?”

“Because we’re friends? And I want you to relax? And spend time with you?” 

A beat of consideration. “And if I win?”

“I’ll wake up before classes every day this week to spar with you,” Sylvain responds triumphantly. He knows he’s a decent match-up, especially because Felix recognizes that his preference for swords makes him vulnerable to lances and their long reach. 

Felix turns his eyes forward again, walking briskly for a few moments. “Fine. You’d better keep your promise, because I’m going to win.” 

“Of course. I always keep my promises,” Sylvain replies, grinning at the thought of spending time with his old friend.

***

Felix wins. 

“Best two out of three,” Sylvain pants, voice slightly strained from the pressure of the wooden sword at his throat.

“That wasn’t in our agreement,” Felix sneers, “and you’ll just lose again.”

“Best two out of three, or you’re a chicken,” Sylvain goads. 

Felix lowers his training sword and returns to his starting stance. “On your mark,” he says shortly, as agreement. 

Sylvain rises, wincing slightly, and jogs over to the sidelines for a drink of water. He selects a new training lance for good luck, and turns to face Felix. With a deep breath, he rushes forward.

Felix arcs his sword in a swing that catches the lance so quickly and forcefully that Sylvain’s wrist snaps backwards too far, his weapon clattering to the ground.

“I’ll see you at five on Monday,” Felix says smugly. He returns his sword to the rack and begins to walk away. 

Sylvain curses, holding his wrist. “That doesn’t count!”

“You can challenge me again next week. Maybe this will finally motivate you to take your training seriously.” 

It does.

*** 

With their agreement in place, it is now a real possibility that Sylvain can take Felix out to the town. Sylvain begins making plans in earnest. 

He learns that the merchants close up shop around sunset, and decides that the marketplace will be the first stop of their future outing. He discovers a small museum of ancient weaponry in a narrow alleyway. Over the course of months, he samples every meat dish in every dining establishment. He befriends the cats with his leftover food, all with the hopes that Felix will enjoy himself on their excursion and therefore be more amenable to another. 

The only problem is that Sylvain never wins when it counts. 

He’s spending a lot of time with Felix now -- two hours on every morning from Monday to Friday -- and he’s learned some of the other man’s tells and habits. How the swordsman draws a quick breath before an attack, the artful way he disengages from a parry, the directions he ducks and rolls away. Still, every Saturday, when they duel, Sylvain loses. He is too slow and too clumsy. Maybe too distracted, as well, with the way Felix’s hair slowly escapes from his tie over time, with the trail of sweat that follows his sharp jawline, with the glint of his teeth when he smirks, with the lines of his body in every form.

*** 

Then comes the war, and everyone scatters. 

It’s five long years of being thrown headfirst into his responsibilities, of defending Faerghus’ northern border against Sreng, of corresponding with his friends only through letters. 

_ Dear Felix,  _

_ I miss you. I miss sparring. I want to see you. I want this war to stop. I want peace.  _

_ Yours forever,  _

_ Sylvain _

This is what Sylvain wants to send. It’s short and concise, which Felix will appreciate. But it’s also full of worthless sentiments. Wishing for peace will not make it happen, and Felix will think such words pointless. So instead, he sends updates on military movements, requests for resources, and practical gifts. Felix responds sparingly, but every reply helps the knot in his chest uncoil. 

Sylvain is taking an aimless break in a town by the Margravate when he sees a merchant selling handmade jewelry. A single pair of earrings stands out to him: two little swords, designed to look like the signature blades crafted by Zoltan. He buys them instantly. 

“You’ve a good eye,” the merchant remarks, tucking the earrings in a velvet box and neatly tying a ribbon in a bow on top. “She’s a lucky lady.” 

Sylvain smiles tightly and accepts the box. When he gets back to his desk, he sets the box on a corner, to remind him of what he’s working for. 

*** 

They all meet again on the day of the Millenium Festival. 

Except Dedue.

Does it make him a bad person that he’s still happy and grateful for those who  _ are  _ alive? Dedue was a good friend. They  _ saw _ each other. Dedue was gentle and loyal and cared deeply for Dimitri. 

But when the thieves have fallen, Sylvain’s eyes and mind are only for Felix. 

“It was so hard, not knowing if you were alive or dead,” he whispers, voice cracking. 

“I sent you letters,” Felix replies gruffly. 

“But still… I couldn’t be there for you. And if you died without me, I’d be breaking our promise.”

“You’re ridiculous.” Felix pauses. “I’m glad you’re alive, too.”

*** 

“Sylvain. I need your help.”

Sylvain looks up from the desk in his guest room at the palace. It is approaching the one-year anniversary of the end of the war, and the nobles of the Kingdom and former Empire and Alliance are all gathered in the capital to plan for celebrations. “Come again?” he says teasingly. 

“You heard me. I’m not going to repeat myself.”

Sylvain chuckles. “I just wanted to hear you say it again. Never thought you’d come to me. Is it a girl?” 

Felix’s eyebrows crease in anger. His face looks slightly pinker. “No. The boar asked me to meet him in his quarters tonight.”

“Oh.” Sylvain’s eyes widen against his will. He forces himself to sound jovial. “So you’ve come to me to learn the ways of the flesh?”

“No, you buffoon. We’re having dinner.” 

“Well, why didn’t you just say that? And what do you need my help for? It’s just Dimitri. You’ve known him just as long as I have.” 

“I don’t know,” Felix says, exasperated. “I don’t know what he wants from me.”

“So just show up and ask him. You’ve never had a problem doing that before.”

“He said he had a sensitive matter that he wanted to discuss.” 

Sylvain hums, tilting his head. “A dinner, just the two of you, in his private quarters… sounds awfully romantic,” he teases. 

“I know,” Felix says between gritted teeth.

Sylvain’s mind is whirring. “So you think Dimitri will confess to you, and you came to me for help?”

“Yes.”

“Do you like him, too?” Sylvain thinks, now, of the way Felix would watch Dimitri in their academy days, with the kind of contemptful concern only he could pull off. 

“I don’t know. I’m… he… he’s better, now. More a man than beast. If… if he wanted to court me, I wouldn’t decline.”

This is Felix for yes. 

“So you want me to get you ready for your first date,” Sylvain concludes. 

Felix reddens. “It’s not a date.”

“Well, you came to the right place. I’ll come to your room and we’ll pick an outfit,” Sylvain says breezily. He can think about all this new information in more detail later. 

*** 

The only clothes in Felix’s guest room’s wardrobe are his sparring gear, nightclothes, and his formal attire for meetings. 

“What did you expect,” Felix mutters, as Sylvain stares at the meager selection with an aghast expression. 

Collecting himself, Sylvain concludes, “We’ll have to go with the formal attire, then, and just modify the outfit so it’s not the exact same thing you wear every day. I’ll lend you some of my own accessories. You take a bath and come back here.”

Felix bristles. “I’m clean.”

Sylvain cuffs him on the head lightly. “Go take a bath. You’ll thank me later.”

Felix huffs, extracts a towel, and leaves without another word. 

When he returns, hair wet and cleansed of dirt and sweat, Sylvain has made peace with the knowledge that Felix was never his. He gives Felix the underlayers of his formal outfit: a dark turtleneck and teal trousers. Felix pulls on his boots, freshly polished by his friend. Sylvain sits behind him and brushes his hair. He casts a small wind spell to dry the inky tresses and begins to braid. 

Felix’s expression is simultaneously disgruntled and grateful. “I didn’t know you could braid.”

“Comes in handy with the ladies,” Sylvain responds instinctively. He makes a thin braid on each side of Felix’s head, meeting in the back with a silver clip. 

Felix reaches for his coat and cape, but Sylvain swats his hand away. “I feel naked,” Felix protests. 

“You’ll look too formal if you put it on,” Sylvain chides. He retrieves a brown scarf instead, taken from his own wardrobe, and wraps it artfully around Felix’s neck.

“You think this is enough?” Felix asks awkwardly. In the candlelight, dressed simply with his hair mostly down save the two braids, he is more than enough. He is so beautiful. So perfect. 

“Wait just a moment,” Sylvain whispers in an embarrassed croak. He leaves the room and returns quickly with the velvet box, tied with a bow. 

“Was this meant for one of your conquests?” Felix inquires suspiciously as Sylvain opens the box. 

“No. It’s for you. It always was for you.” 

Felix appraises the earrings carefully. “Swords of Zoltan,” he observes. Then he brings them to the mirror and puts them in. “I like them.”

*** 

Dimitri is awkward when he invites Felix in. Two steaming plates and matching glasses of wine sit on a table between two armchairs. 

Felix cuts into his steak. “So, what did you wish to discuss?”

Dimitri takes a bite of his own meal, chews carefully, swallows, dabs his mouth with a napkin. “Just like you to cut right to the chase, Felix,” he says fondly. “Well, I can’t say I’m surprised.” He clears his throat. 

Felix can feel his heart in his own throat, choking him. He puts the steak in his mouth. It’s a wonderful cut, cooked perfectly, juicy and flavorful. He waits. 

“Now that things have been settling down, I have begun thinking of marriage.”

Felix nods, beginning to cut another piece. 

“I know I should be thinking of my station. My future partner will rule over Fodlan with me. And yet, the choice I want to make is highly inappropriate. I wanted to hear your opinion as my advisor.”

“Who is it that you wish to marry?”

Dimitri sets down his fork and knife. “Our old professor. Archbishop Byleth.”

The steak tastes like lead in Felix’s mouth. 

*** 

“So what did you tell him?”

“I told him that it would turn Fodlan into a theocracy, and that it may be viewed inappropriately since Byleth was our professor at the academy. But. He loves her. She can bear his children. I can’t. She may have been raised as a commoner, but she has a Crest and a high station. As leaders of the country, no one can really say no to them. And how could I? It’s what he wants.”

“Felix… I’m sorry.”

“Whatever. It’s my fault for making assumptions. It’s whatever.”

Sylvain sits down on the bed next to Felix and carefully puts his arm around his friend’s shoulders. “Tell you what. Let’s go out to the town. It’s been a while since you explored Fhirdiad, I bet.”

Felix scowls. “No.”

“You can’t possibly have anything better to do. The only meeting tomorrow is in the afternoon, and I won’t let you go to the training grounds like this. With the mood you’re in, it wouldn’t do any good anyway.”

“I just want to hit something.”

Sylvain hums and rubs Felix’s shoulder. “Let’s go out. I’ll find us something to do. You’re already dressed for the occasion!” Sylvain cajoles. 

Felix’s lips press into a thin line. His eyes are beginning to look wet.

This is like the old Felix. Vulnerable. A crybaby. 

Sylvain decides not to point this out. 

He goes to his wardrobe and pulls out his coat. “Just wear this over your clothes, instead of your own complicated getup.”

By some miracle, Felix takes it. 

*** 

They go to a cat cafe, a little tea shop filled with a dozen well-fed and friendly felines. Sylvain buys some chicken from the butcher next door and gives Felix the pieces, finely chopped, to hand-feed the cats. He orders Felix’s favorite tea, Almyran pine needles, and a bag of freshly roasted nuts to snack on. Felix’s frown slowly fades. 

Like this, with Felix in his coat and wearing the gifted earrings, it feels like Sylvain has finally gotten his wish, six years too late. He is finally taking Felix out to a town, albeit not the town he’d pictured or planned for. And now that he’s older and had years to process his feelings, he knows now - that he loves Felix, more than he’d ever loved anyone else. 

“Thank you, Sylvain,” Felix says quietly as they walk back home. 

“Anytime,” he replies, hands itching in his pockets to reach out. 


End file.
